Angel and I are going to be there this
evening till it's my bed-time; and you can come up with me if you will.
Oh, I'm so thankful you don't need to vanish for a little while."
His heart pounding as it had not pounded for six years and more--(not
since the days when he had gone up other stairs, in another land, to
see an Evelyn)--Hugh followed the flitting figure of the child.
The stairs and corridors were not lighted yet. One economises with
electric light and many other little things at a hotel pension, where
the prices are "from five francs a day, _vin compris_."
Rosemary opened a door on the fourth floor, and for a moment the
twilight on the other side was shot for Hugh with red and purple spots.
But the colours faded when the childish voice said, "Angel isn't here.
If you'll come in, I'll go and see if she's in our room."
"Don't tell her--don't say--anything about a fairy father," he
stammered.
"Oh no, that's to be the surprise," Rosemary reassured him, as she
pattered away.
It was deep twilight in the room, and rather cold, for the eucalyptus
and olive logs in the fireplace still awaited the match.
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